


Little Rowboat

by y8ungho



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Cancer, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:25:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y8ungho/pseuds/y8ungho
Summary: In which Doyoung reflects on his life with one Johnny Seo, the man that he loved who was taken from him too soon.





	Little Rowboat

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Little Rowboat - Daniel Caesar

Doyoung remembers the moment he fell in love with Johnny. He can recount it like it happened the day before, but he likes to keep that moment to himself; whenever someone asks him to tell them that moment, he usually says that something just clicked within him. And for the most part, that’s how it was.

He usually doesn’t tell people that it happened when he was 16 years old, as him and Johnny- who went by his real name, Youngho, back then- laid in the grass of the field by their neighborhood. It was spring, and a soft breeze tickled Doyoung’s nose, carrying wafts of dew and honeysuckle along with it and filling his head with the warm fuzzy feeling that you get when you truly experience a perfect spring day. The sun shone softly down onto the pair, illuminating Doyoung’s sight, and ultimately illuminating Johnny’s face as he rested in the field.

Doyoung remembers rolling over from his back to his stomach and resting his head on his arms, regarding the lanky boy next to him, dark brown eyes tracing across the smooth tan skin and the features of his face, hopping from his angled jaw to the lips that Doyoung’s mother had always compared to cherry blossoms ever since they were children, sliding up his sharp cheekbones and finally resting on his honey brown eyes, which were open and regarding Doyoung with a soft yet curious gaze. It was obvious that the elder was wondering why the younger was looking at him so, and Johnny Seo was never one to flinch away.

Kim Doyoung, on the other hand, was one to do so. But on this particular spring day, he didn’t do so. Instead, he had felt his hand reach out on its own, a finger extending to trace along Johnny’s jawline as he scooted closer. Johnny’s eyes had seemed to get wider and wider as Doyoung inched closer and closer, the younger’s lips parted and his eyes almost hazy as he finally stopped moving, their faces centimeters apart. 

Johnny had murmured “Doyoung, what’s wrong” in a soft tone, his warm peppermint scented breath fanning over Doyoung’s face. His eyes had traveled from Doyoung’s eyes to his lips back to his eyes, a hand moving tentatively to the small of his back, the touch threatening to send electric shocks down Doyoung’s spine. He truly had no idea what he was doing, but the only thing that Doyoung had thought, as he slowly leaned down to Johnny’s face and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, was that this had felt right all along. He hadn’t cared about the consequences back then, didn’t care if what happened next was good or bad. All he had cared about was the pressure of Johnny’s lips on his a few seconds later, the hand moving from his back to tangle in his hair and pull him closer. 

Doyoung chuckles as he recalls that time, about how later the pair had sneezed to high heaven from the pollen that had gotten into their systems (much to the chagrin of their mothers). They had shared more kisses after that, in various places, but the field in the back of the neighborhood was a special place for them, a respite from everything that life threw them, a place for them to bask in the presence of each other fully with no pretenses and no filters. They didn’t have to hide there.

But life went on, and it took Johnny away from Doyoung in the form of a moving truck and a plane headed to America, and a promise that he would be back and that he wouldn’t forget Doyoung even if he tried. And Doyoung held him to that. Year after year, the letters from Johnny would pile up on his desk, the stamps emblazoned with the Statue of Liberty, the addresses changing from time to time as he moved from place to place and went to college. But they petered out, and one day Doyoung had waited for a letter that would never come.

Doyoung had hated those years. He still hates them now. They were painful, and he had spent many a night crying in the field as he looked up at the stars, biting his thumb so he wouldn’t wake the neighbors with his sobs. He had been so scared that Johnny had forgotten him, had broken his promise. But that had all dissipated in a simple trip to the grocery store on Doyoung’s college break, when Doyoung had gone out to buy rice cakes for his mother’s famous tteokbokki.

Doyoung can’t help but chuckle at the memory, of him dropping the rice cake package as he saw the tall, svelte man with dyed auburn hair, raked back to show overgrown black roots, and cherry blossom lips reading the words on a jar of kimchi. He had looked up from the jar at the sound of the frozen cakes hitting the floor, honeyed eyes widening at the man in front of him. Doyoung hadn’t changed, the inky black hair and large brown eyes from his childhood now in a much more mature face. Johnny had changed, had morphed from the thin, lanky teenager that existed in Doyoung’s memory, but he was there in the flesh, so different yet still the same man Doyoung had fallen in love with. 

In a blur of motion, Doyoung had launched himself into Johnny’s arms, fingers curling around the soft sweater that the taller man had on, hot tears soaking into the knit. He had beaten weakly on Johnny’s chest in a small fit of saddened rage, demanding explanations for the lack of letters, the lack of contact, all the years of worry and anxiety and pain flowing into the tiny fist that had pounded a steady beat on Johnny’s sternum. And Johnny had taken it all, had just stood in the middle of the aisle, a hand resting on the small of Doyoung’s back as the younger continued on his tirade. Finally, when Doyoung’s sobs had reduced down to mere hiccups, Johnny had gently tilted Doyoung’s head up and smoothed away the remaining tears from his cheeks with his thumbs, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips and murmuring a soft apology, which had only made Doyoung cry again. They had spent a good 10 minutes in that aisle kissing and murmuring more apologies and even more promises to each other, surrounded by jars of salted shrimp and gochujang paste and not caring who saw them, because the only thing on their minds was to make up for lost time.

Johnny was here to stay, and slowly but surely, they had slowly built their life up from the foundation that they had already laid down. Doyoung finished his final year of college while Johnny secured a high paying job at his university as the youngest lecturer and lab technician in the history of the institution, which had made it easier for the pair to meet up and chat about their day, Doyoung regaling Johnny with stories about his labs and crazy professors as they fueled up on iced coffee and panini sandwiches. Every afternoon would end with Johnny gently kissing Doyoung’s lips and sending him off to his writing class, the elder relishing the way the younger’s cheeks would flush the same pink as his flowerbud lips. The days would end with Doyoung coming over to Johnny’s apartment (soon to become both of theirs), bringing a box of food for the elder that they could share while they watched the new installment of Game of Thrones. Doyoung would shrug out of his dressy sweaters and trousers and grab one of Johnny’s t-shirts to slip over his lithe frame, Johnny dressing down in just a pair of sweatpants, and they would converge on the couch, Doyoung laying down on Johnny’s chest and tracing soft patterns onto the tanned skin. 

After Doyoung’s graduation, Doyoung had moved into Johnny’s apartment, the next few months being chock full of job applications, packing peanuts, and numerous takeout boxes eaten on the floor of Doyoung’s office space in the apartment. Finally, once Doyoung had found a job at the local high school as a teacher and tutor, it was like their life had pieced together. Every morning, Johnny would wake up, bringing a sleepy, clingy Doyoung with him, a thin arm wrapped around the elder’s bare torso from behind as they brushed their teeth and got ready for the day. They would get dressed, Doyoung fixing Johnny’s tie when he was too tired to tie it properly and Johnny thanking him with a kiss to the cheek. They would leave the apartment together, and Johnny would drop Doyoung off at the school, the younger flashing a gummy smile and waving as he saw the car make its way to the university. They would go throughout their day, and Doyoung would the first one to reach home, stretching out on the couch and grading papers until Johnny got home. Once he did, the pair would work in comfortable silence, the little radio that Johnny brought from America in the kitchen playing the 60’s crooners channel. Whenever Paul Anka came on the radio, Johnny would pause in his typing to sing out loud, sometimes even getting up and taking Doyoung’s hand, pulling him up from the couch and dancing him around the living room as he sang, whether it be “Put Your Head On My Shoulder” or “So It’s Goodbye”. Doyoung would just listen to the sound of Johnny’s deep, bell like voice, his face tucked into his neck as his fingers intertwined with his as time seemed to slow down around them. It was a simple, fulfilling existence for the both of them, and they had made many memories in the space; the times when Johnny would nearly burn the apartment down trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches and the time where Johnny had hoisted Doyoung on the counter and they had kissed only to be caught by their best friends Ten and Taeyong (who had made a big deal out of it, shielding their eyes and groaning in exaggerated tones even though they were a couple themselves) flash through Doyoung’s mind, and he couldn’t help the soft smile that creeped onto his face at the thought. Doyoung was certain back then that this life would be forever, and he had daydreamed about living a life with the floppy haired elder, about raising a puppy, maybe even a family of their own. They would be so happy. 

But that wasn’t what life had in store for them.

Doyoung’s world began to crumble on a sunny Sunday, where he had woken up to a cold space where Johnny should’ve been and the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom. He had been too slow, too tired to pull himself up in time to see the full extent of the problem, but Johnny had been out of the bathroom in a second, his hand reaching to wipe the corner of his mouth before he had slid into bed, letting Doyoung voice his concerns before soothing them with calming words. But Doyoung knew something was wrong. That morning, as they shared their usual kiss, Doyoung could taste blood on Johnny’s tongue.

As the days passed by, Johnny had begun to get frail, his normally powerful body growing thin and weak and his youthful face paling, showcasing sunken cheeks and deep set eyes ringed by deep purple bruises. He would throw up often, and one day Doyoung had found a tiny smudge of red in the toilet bowl when Johnny didn’t clean up completely, confirming his worst fears. They had fought for the first time in their relationship that night, the younger screaming that he didn’t want to see Johnny die. That had rendered the elder silent as Doyoung stomped to their shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him as he curled up on the bed and started to cry, tiny hiccups shaking his shoulders. Johnny had quietly followed a few minutes later, arms wrapping around Doyoung from behind and pulling him to his chest. Doyoung had put up a cold front, refusing to talk or even make a sound, but he couldn’t help turning into his lover’s chest and snuggling into it as Johnny said that he had booked a doctor’s appointment for the next day and that he would get better. “For you,” he had said. “Only for you.”

Johnny had taken the day off and had gone to the hospital the next day, and Doyoung was certain that it would be okay, that it would be just a simple ulcer and that Doyoung could nurse him back to health like he always did. Johnny always got sick, and Doyoung was a master at homemade remedies; some of them would be downright disgusting, but they cured Johnny in a matter of hours. Nothing could have prepared Doyoung, however, from the phone call he had gotten from the hospital as he was observing his students working through a set of math problems from his desk, for the words “we would like to discuss some treatment options for your significant other’s tumor” issuing through the speaker. 

Doyoung had dropped the phone, the clatter on the floor alerting his students and alarming them even more as he leaned onto his desk and began to wail, his shoulders trembling with each shuddering sob that had ripped through his chest. Class was cancelled that day as Taeyong drove Doyoung to the hospital, the younger’s hand wrapped tightly around his wrist as he reassured him that it would be okay, and that Johnny was strong; he would get through this, and everything would be fine. 

It was stomach cancer. It was already at Stage 3, the doctor had said quietly, the pencil tapping on his clipboard as he told the couple the prognosis. Doyoung had squeezed Johnny’s hand, noting the fear in the elder’s eyes as he nodded along with the doctor’s words and the shaky voice that asked the doctor about treatment. He would have to stay at the hospital, receiving chemotherapy and radiation treatments as well as a slew of medicine every day. He would have to quit his job, alter his lifestyle and just let his system do the work for him. It was like Johnny couldn’t do anything if he even tried. 

And so the months of treatment began. It had been heartbreaking and painful for Doyoung, to wake up without Johnny’s arms around him, to not brush his teeth with him in the morning and fix his tie, but he still found solace in his arms after he finished work in the afternoon, when he would drive to the hospital to see him. Johnny had stayed busy; instead of quitting his job, he had continued to lecture, using technology and online whiteboards to teach his class and walk them through the mechanisms of the human body as his own body destroyed itself from the inside. Sometimes, Doyoung would walk in on a student in Johnny’s hospital room, getting extra help from the man in the bed, watching from the doorway as Johnny helped his student and smiling gently when Johnny’s voice would raise happily as the student finally understood the concept; even through his diagnosis and treatment, even when his thick black hair began to thin and Doyoung could see the outline of his clavicles above the neck of the simple university sweater he always wore, he stayed positive and happy. Doyoung always thinks about how Johnny could do that, and he repeats the same reason that he’s told himself through all this time: it was just because it was him.

Of course, there were some days where Doyoung had let the worry and pain get to him, and one day Doyoung had cried into Johnny’s chest, choking out broken phrases about how life was unfair for making them both hurt in this way. Johnny had looked down on Doyoung’s shaking frame and had pulled him close, a hand running through his hair as his pale lips ghosted along his neck. Johnny had always joked around when Doyoung was sad, hoping to get a laugh from the younger so he could forget his worries, and that didn’t change even when he was sick.

“You know, there’s a nursery rhyme from America that would go something like this...” Johnny had said into Doyoung’s skin as the younger clinged onto his sweatshirt. “‘Three, six, nine, the goose drank wine; the monkey chewed tobacco on the streetcar line; the line broke, the monkey got choked, and they all went to heaven in a little rowboat.’ Isn’t it funny? Going to heaven in a little rowboat? I bet that if I went to heaven, they wouldn’t be able to fit me into that rowboat…. They would have to either fold me in or they would have to get a bigger one for me to fit, don’t you think?”

Doyoung had looked up from Johnny’s sweater as he spoke, his large eyes swollen and red, tears clinging to his eyelashes as he regarded his lover. He had been so calm, so patient, even as he was aware that he was dying. He should’ve been angry, indignant, demanding, but he was the opposite. And that was admirable of him, but it had made Doyoung even more sad. Nevertheless, he had still chuckled at Johnny’s joke, closing his eyes as the elder’s thumbs smoothed across his cheeks and wiped the remaining tears from his skin. “I wouldn’t want them to find a rowboat your size,” he had finally murmured, snuggling into his chest. “Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Doyoung had mumbled, leaning up so that their lips barely brushed together. “They can take all the time that they need to stuff you in. So you can have more time. So you can stay with me.”

As the days went on, Johnny’s health had only worsened. The cancer spread to his liver, becoming so intense that Johnny could barely eat anything and he had to stay in bed all day. He couldn’t lecture as much as he could, but he had still done so, his emaciated yet still beautiful face smiling widely as he taught, his memory still serving him so well that he could still say goodbye to each student by name as they passed by the webcam in his former lecture hall. Doyoung had constantly told him to not push himself, especially when he was this weak, but Johnny had shaken his head gently, saying “It’s what they deserve. And it’s what i want to do, regardless of the amount of time I have left. Let me use my final minutes in helping people learn how to extend other people’s minutes.”

Maybe Johnny somehow knew he only had a few seconds left on the clock of his life. Maybe he just had a yearning to go there. But one night, he had asked permission from his doctor to let Doyoung take him somewhere. Once Doyoung had settled Johnny in the passenger seat and had started the ignition, Johnny had asked him to take him to the field behind their old neighborhood. Doyoung had raised his eyebrows in surprise at that, asking if Johnny was sure; he wasn’t even sure if the field was there anymore, since it had been a long while since they had visited the place. Johnny had nodded confidently; he was certain the field was still there. And it still was, the dandelions slowly swaying around the wheels of Johnny’s wheelchair as Doyoung pushed him to the middle of the ocean of grass, the scent of asters and baby’s breath lacing the air.

Johnny had looked up to the stars, a soft smile on his face as the breeze tussled with his thin hair before he looked up at Doyoung, who was leaning on the handles and looking down at him. “Remember our first kiss? We were here in this field, laying in the grass, and you just came and kissed me. I was so surprised, but I had wanted to kiss you for forever, so I kissed you back.”

Doyoung had nodded and laughed at that, resting his chin on the top of Johnny’s head as he continued on. “When I left for America, I missed you so much… More than anything. I counted the days until I could come back and see you, but life just seemed to get in the way every time I was ready to pick up and go. I finally just decided to move back here, so I could see you again. And I’m glad I made that move to come back here, because I wouldn’t have it any way. I would rather go through my life with nothing than not have you. You’re the love of my life, Kim Doyoung. And I wanted to let you know. So you’ll never have to go a day without knowing that. Even if I'm not there to tell you.”

Doyoung had felt tears sliding down his cheeks as Johnny spoke, the salty drops landing on Johnny’s cheeks as he leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Johnny’s hand had reached up to cup Doyoung’s chin with a delicate touch as he reciprocated, a few tears of his own falling from his eyes. 

They had stayed there for a while, the stars the only witness to their love. A man and his sick lover, in a field of grass, sharing a tender kiss, mirroring the past.

Johnny’s clock ticked its final second the next morning. He went in his sleep, with no pain, no regrets in his short life. Doyoung remembers that morning as an overcast, rainy day, the gray clouds in the sky bringing a sour mood along with it. But as he had walked out of the apartment, the rain had stopped and the clouds suddenly cleared, bringing an azure sky into view, a single rainbow extending its arm across the expanse of blue. A welcome sign for the soul leaving the earth to go up above.

As Doyoung remembers his life with the man he loved, he reaches out to run his fingers along the smooth granite of a grave marker, the tips brushing along the engraved letters of Johnny’s name. He visits him every day, bearing a bouquet of red roses and calla lilies, and tells him about his day. Some days, Taeyong and Ten come with him, Taeyong cradling Minhyung, their child and Doyoung’s godson, in his arms. But most days, like today, he comes alone. He cries, yes, but he knows that Johnny wouldn’t want it. He would’ve wanted him to be happy, to be able to not cry at his memory, no matter how painful. Most of all, Doyoung hopes that the rowboat was comfortable enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> so this. whew.
> 
> i don't usually write angst, but this was an idea that kept me up at night from the amount that i was sobbing over it, and i vowed to get this on a doc before it ate me up from the inside out. the way i got this idea was that i was listening to my recommended music on spotify and i heard the song "little rowboat" by daniel caesar for the first time. almost instantly the idea popped into my head, and it only took a few seconds for me to determine a pairing and burst into tears. enjoy my first stab at this genre, the fruits of my mental and emotional labor (it goes up against every cell of my being to write angst, as a primarily fluffy writer) and tell me how you like at my twitter @solhyae !
> 
> love, ani ♡


End file.
